Together
by LittleSixx
Summary: "Age of Ultron" (mostly) canon-compliant ficlets written to fix the characterization of the movie. Steve and Tony have heart-to-hearts; Natasha is a monster, but not for the reasons you believe; and in the final battle Steve has an unfortunate flashback. Through it all, the Avengers are in this together.
1. Together

Tony Stark charmed his way around the circle that had gathered to hear Rhodey's, "Boom!" story, and spotted a solemn-looking Steve on the upper landing overlooking the festivities. At first he rolled his eyes, but there was something in Steve's expression that resembled heartbreak or regret. Since no one gets to feel alone at one of Tony's parties except himself, he took the stairs two at a time and shouted,

"Hey, crabcapple! I thought gloom and doom was Bruce's thing." Steve raised his eyebrows, sucked a playful breath through his teeth, and motioned down toward the bar.

"I think he's a bit too interested in Natasha's, um," his cheeks flushed, "assets, to be gloom and doom." Bruce and Romanoff were getting close as Nat made him a drink. His eyes were obviously travelling down her neck toward her more prominent physical assets. "I'm just taking up the stead in his absence."

"Yeah, whatever, Capslock." Tony rested his forearms on the railing overlooking the party in an imitation of Steve's posture. He relaxed his shoulders and muttered, "You wanna talk about it?"

"I feel like I should, but I really don't. It's just … the party atmosphere. I'm not used to it. Makes me feel—makes me wish I'd experienced it while I was alive."

"You're not dead."

Silence. They stood there for a few seconds, Cap ignoring Tony's last statement, and Tony awaiting a reply he knew would never come. Someone patted Steve on the back just then, and he effortlessly flew into the conversational quick-step he'd perfected post-icing. Tony knew that style, though. He used it when he did press. Make them think you're interested when your mind wanders elsewhere.

Minutes later, Cap politely dismissed whomever it was and nudged Tony. Never one to stay quiet for long,

"You wanted to have that dance, huh, Cap?"

"Yeah, I do," He sighed. "But it's not just losing Peggy that gets me. Back when I was skinny, asthmatic, and five-foot-nothin', I didn't do this but I could've. I didn't get a lot of offers, but Bucky was persistent with the dames. I could've had fun."

The crowd on the couches laughed along with Rhodey who'd only just gotten to the punch line. Steve's pal, Sam— _Falcon—_ Tony corrects himself, found a new opponent at the billiard's table.

"What's stopping you now?" Tony asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, I throw a great shindig." He opened his arms wide, gesturing to the party going on below them.

The chatter rose slowly, like a mist, suffocating the sound so Tony could hardly hear Steve's reply.

"Responsibility."

Tony cocked an eyebrow and turned to face him.

"You're full of shit, Rogers. You love to lead, you live to lead, and you're damn good at it." Steve chuckled. Tony's stomach fluttered a bit, getting Captain America to laugh like that, just that little chuckle that got past the hardened battle mask that seemed permanently etched onto his face. "So what's the deal?" Steve licked his lips and turned to face Tony.

"Dr. Erskine chose me for my heart. If I had been the type to have fun, to not defend myself, to be a normal guy, I would've never gotten this," He gestured with the hand not holding his drink to his dorito-shaped torso. "I don't regret it." Steve was resolute on that point, Tony noted.

"Why would you? Those arms don't come about every day."

"It's hard to remember that, spending so much time with Thor," Steve quipped in reply.

"One point for the Capsicle," Tony conceded. "Alright, continue your brood."

"I'm not brooding."

"You are so brooding."

"I'm just—When he died, he was on the floor and I hovered over him. Nobody had faith in me like Erskine. Not even Bucky. He knew I could do great things and trusted me to do right by him. The last thing he did, with his dying breath, he pointed to my heart." Steve sighed. "I'm petrified I'm gonna fail him, and I worked too hard and forgot to do this." Steve pointed back to the crowd. "I'm torn between knowing what I've missed and appreciating what I've been able to do. Who I've become."

"Well, Cap, you are the first person I've told this to, and probably will be the last. If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will have Dum-E cover you with so much flame-retardant foam you'll be cast in the remake of Ghost Busters."

Steve's unspoken, "I don't get that reference," was ignored.

"When I was in that cave in Afghanistan, which I hate talking about but you're important so I'll let it slide, I had a scientist with me. He'd been there longer than me, put a magnet on top of my heart and attached it to a car battery. We were working with nothing, but he saved me. Working in those conditions with someone makes you closer, you know?"

Steve nodded, his eyes going distant for a moment.

"I thought we were going to escape together. Bastard sacrificed himself, knowing only one of us could make it out. He gave himself up for me so I could do great things. That's why I joined this boyband, Cap. I want to save people that won't be safe otherwise from threats we don't even know about yet. Yinsen was lying there, bleeding out, and poked me right in the chest. I thought he was talking about the tech, you know? The arc reactor is technological ingenuity, and I built it in the middle of a fucking desert with scrap metal."

"Language, Tony."

"Alright, Cappuccino, my point is that my guy thought the same way about me that Erskine felt about you. I get it, the pressure to do what they wanted you to do. It's internal; it's nagging at me all the time. I'm not doing enough. No one else knows, but I give myself enough crap to fill twelve tabloids. You and me? We're a therapist's dream!

"Sometimes I used to see the glow of the arc reactor in the dark and plunge right into a panic attack. I was back in Afghanistan, sweating, then I'd see Yinsen covered in blood and I wouldn't be able to breathe."

"I feel that way all the time. It's suffocating, knowing I'll never be exactly what I was meant to be. That soldier fighting that war is gone. When I found out Hydra infiltrated SHIELD, it broke me. Everything I had been, what I died for—"

"Still alive, Rogers."

"—was for nothing. They still won. Hydra owns the legacy of who Steve Rogers used to be."

"Well, then, take control of what you're going to become," Tony said. "Be that guy, be the man you are. I see it in you, Steve, all the time. Your fearlessness and stubbornness and leadership, all that's in you. That's not Erskine, it's you, and I know you'll do right by us."

Steve chuckled, but it was melancholy and Tony didn't like it. Almost like he scoffed, but Captain America never scoffed. Tony wondered if scoffing at people was permissible in the 40s.

"I don't doubt that I can be, I'm just scared to let it happen again. What if the next threat is too close to home? How am I supposed to go through that again? Be here, be the 21st-century Steve Rogers and do the right thing? How do I do that?"

"Together."

Steve lifted his head, his jaw tightening.

"I mean it. We're here, we're your teammates, and we've got your back. You are Steve Rogers, probably the greatest man I've ever met—fuck that, you are the greatest man I have ever met and yes, I know I said 'fuck,' and you're a shithead to keep pointing it out. Dammit, Cap, every one of us is flawed, but we trust you. We believe in you, so you will lead us to great things while being who you are in any century. I trust you to do that, and I know you will continue to do great things that will not be undone by HYDRA, Loki, or any other big bad that comes our way.

"This isn't a one-man show. Steve Rogers doesn't do the greatest things, he leads those who do. Erskine saw what people have been seeing for seventy years." Tony spread his hand across the middle of Steve's chest. "We'll do this together. As a team, and no one could lead us but you."

The noise was overpowering at that moment. It blanketed the two men like sunlight, neither of them bothering to point it out, merely accepting its presence. They stood there like that for a moment, Steve's ice blue eyes boring holes into him, parsing out whether Tony meant what he said. Tony realized then, there were a few hundred people in the Tower and any number of them could see him fondling Captain America. His hand fell to his side and Steve stiffened. His eyes briefly darted around the room before landing squarely on Tony's.

"You're right."

"JARVIS? JARVIS, did you get that? I want you to make that phrase my ringtone. My alarm clock. The timer on the microwa—"

"Tony, stop being a dick," Steve interrupted.

"And for that, I'm gonna put soap in your toothpaste."


	2. Sick Like Me

The hot water raining down was soothing. Bruce Banner closed his eyes, which were nearly level with the showerhead. He lathered shampoo into his hair, sighing heavily, mentally checking off the places he could go. Tony's experience means the Afghani desert was out. Calcutta? Been there done that. The QuinJet still has the Hulk cage, maybe—

The water ran cold.

He jumped back, away from the freezing stream, nearly tripping and falling into the bathtub. He sighed, rinsed his hair, and quickly grabbed the soap. Tentatively, he set each body part into the ice-cold, falling water once the lather covered him. First the arms, followed by the torso, and all the vital bits, working his way downward. He quickly shut the shower off once finished and stuffed his legs into his pants.

Bruce came out of the bathroom, shirtless and toweling off his hair. He paused for a moment when he saw Natasha on the edge of the bed and mumbled something about not knowing she waited.

"I would've joined you, but it didn't seem like the right time," She said. Bruce shrugged.

"They used up all the hot water," He said, nodding to the next room.

"I should've joined you," Nat replied, a smile evident in her voice but not her face. Bruce chuckled at the irony.

"Missed our window."

"Did we?" Nat asked, coy. Banner's shoulders dropped as he moved around Nat for his shirt. Pulling it on,

"The world just saw the Hulk, the real Hulk, for the first time. You know I have to leave." Natasha pressed her lips together in reply,

"And you think I have to stay." She looked heavenward and smiled sardonically. "You're right." Her eyes refocused on Bruce. "I do have to stay." Her arms fell to her side, pomegranate-red hair bouncing almost comically as it framed her stoic expression. Bruce momentarily wondered what S.H.I.E.L.D. put in their standard-issue hairspray to keep both shape and bounce through Nat's superspy battles—he quickly put the thought out of his mind but decided to look into it next time he was in the lab at Avengers Tower. That was, if he would ever be back.

"Okay …" He replied.

"I had this dream," Natasha said. "The kind of dream that seems normal when you're dreaming, but when you wake up you realize it's each and every thing it's impossible to have in your real life." Banner stepped closer to her, the concern of a teammate, not of a lover, he told himself.

"What did you dream?"

"That I was an Avenger. That I was anything more than the assassin they made me."

"You are." Bruce insisted, tightly winding his arms around himself as the anger began to creep up from his toes, threatening to engulf him in that horribly familiar feeling. He couldn't figure why Natasha thought she wasn't an Avenger. Who could possibly make this horribly impressive woman think she was anything less than a person? Nat raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips,

"Am I?" She smiled then, tight-lipped, but a genuine smile. "See, in my dream we, Clint and I, we have all this." She spread her arms wide and gestured to their horribly floral wallpapered surroundings. "This, for him, is the end game. Laura, the wife and kids, the house with the farm … It's all Clint wanted after he escaped the circus, you know? Normalcy.

"And that's something I could never give him. I knew that, but Clint made a choice. He was willing to give up his career and his life when he refused to kill me. I gave this to him in return. I allowed him to have this life outside of me, outside of everything I am. He would've stayed a spy just to be my partner forever. But this is what he really wanted. I knew that. So we've kept our relationship … Well, I love him, and seeing him like this is enough. Being 'Aunty Nat' is enough. I love seeing him happy, seeing him with the kids, and Laura's great. She's strong and motherly, which I can't be. I owe him my life, and instead gave him the one he wanted."

"And … I'm what, Natasha? Your second choice, the man you … Why? What are you doing? There's no future with me. I can't ever … I can't have this; kids. Do the math, I physically can't." Bruce said desperately.

"Neither can I," Nat shrugged. "They sterilized us in the Red Room. It's practical, efficient, one less thing to worry about. It's one of the few things that might matter more than a mission. When you can't have that sort of life beyond your own, mortality sets in. It makes everything easier—even killing. Not that it mattered much at the time. I didn't understand what they were doing to me. For all I knew, I'd wake up with a metal arm.

"That's what I was, Bruce. I was an assassin, a killing machine, but Barton saw something more. He saw what bit of humanity they hadn't burned, forced, cut out of me." She walked forward then, to clutch Banner's sides and sigh, a shaky breath forcing its way out of her lungs. Her head fell to his chest and she sighed again.

"I think you're being hard on yourself."

"And here I was, thinking that was your job." Nat sniffled.

"Oh my God, are you … are you … are you crying?" Bruce couldn't force the words back into his throat as much as he wished he could. Nat stepped back then, tears slowly tracking down her cheeks,

"Yeah, I, I know. It's weird to see me human, isn't it?" She used the sleeve of her robe to gently dab beneath her eyes. "But that's why I love Clint. He never saw me as anything else. I was Nat, always. I am bonded to him in a way I never will be anyone else. We are partners. We've flown together, slept together, killed together … But I could never give him this. I play the spectator in this part of his life because there isn't enough of Natasha left, Bruce. There is only Black Widow."

"I …" Bruce trailed off, nothing left to say.

"You still think you're the only monster on the team?" Nat said sardonically.

"No, Nat. You're not a monster. I, on the other hand … Where can I go? Where in the world am I not a threat?"

"You're not a threat. Not to me."

"You sure?" Bruce challenged.

"Where in the world am I not a threat?" Nat countered. "You have no clue how many governments want to kill me and everyone I love. When Fury nearly died I …" Nat heaved before quickly composing herself. "How many spy organizations, and people you don't want to know exist, Banner, want to kill me. Loki wasn't wrong, my ledger is gushing blood. And that's why I adore you, Bruce. You get it, you can't control the monster you are. You're sick, just like me. There's a part of your head you can't control. That satisfaction I get when I kill a robot? Same as when I kill a Hydra member. Or anyone, any human. That's a part of me I can't control, and you have a similar problem."

They stood for several moments, silence forming a wall between them.

"You said you have to stay?" Bruce said.

"I do," Nat nodded. "I do. This is my destiny, or what the Red Room chose for me, anyway. I will die in a fight. Spies don't get old, they get sloppy, then they die. Whether it's Ultron or Loki or some other supervillain or some villain a hell of a lot closer to home, my time will come. Stark can take off the suit, put it up for good if he wants. Cap can do the same thing, though his conscious won't let him. Barton has a life here and can put down the bow and arrow any time. He doesn't need us like we want him. Thor doesn't even live here. Next thing you know, Jane's up in Asgard and we never see him again.

"You and I, we don't have that option. This is who we are now. We need this team more than anyone else. Except now you don't think we need you. We do. But Bruce, I will die on this team or the next, so if the plan's running, I can't run with you; I'll go crazy. I'm a fighter and I won't hide my face to avoid the people that want to come after me. As much as I would love to run with you, I have to stay."

Bruce nodded.

"Okay."

"That doesn't mean you should go," Nat insisted.

"I really just want to disappear, where I can't hurt anyone."

"This doesn't sound like you, Bruce. You've always wanted to help people and you can't do that if you're MIA. Stay here and help. Show the world the Hulk is dangerous, but he can help. You're only a monster if that's what you choose to be."

"What about you, Nat? What did you choose to be?"


	3. Unlovable

Before Afghanistan, Tony Stark had never been without a bed. After age fourteen, he never had a problem finding someone to share it with. Bruce and Romanoff were sharing a room-goodness only knew what they'd get up to. Thor left to do demigod-only-knows what. Barton said, "Well, looks like Mom and Dad will be taking Callum's room."

It took Tony awhile to realize whom he meant. When he stood inside the doorframe of Barton's son's room, Captain America at his side, Tony realized he'd have to take the floor.

Weirdly, he was alright with that.

It was strange. Tony had never been in a typical child's room. His always had some sort of experiment ongoing and clothes never piled up because Jarvis was always there to clean. The pale blue walls were probably one of Barton's first projects in the house. The closet was neat at the top where only Callum's parents could reach, but the bottom was nothing more than a pile of clothes—probably both dirty and clean.

It was a small room, with nothing more than a bed, dresser, and some toys. They were scattered in all corners of the room, but the real highlight was the large window on the eastern wall overlooking the farm's massive yard.

"You take the bed," Steve said, swiping a pillow and throwing it at the foot of the wall opposite the window.

"You're joking, right?" Tony asked. "You know no one will let me live it down if I let Captain America sleep on the floor."

"You planning on telling people you slept with Captain America?" Steve joked.

"I'd tell them I slept with Steve Rogers, and I'd never let him take the floor."

"Look at the bed. It'd barely get to my knees."

"I'll tell them I slept with Steve Rogers, and I'd never let him take the floor alone." Tony grabbed the other pillow and threw it down next to Steve's. They stood, looking at their pillows for a moment, before Tony spotted something in a corner.

"Are those Legos?"

"Waffles?" Steve asked.

"That's Eggos, Cap. No 'L.'"

"What's a Lego?"

"These!" Tony said, his face shining with child-like joy. Steve frowned slightly at the building blocks.

"Okay."

Tony sat cross-legged on the floor.

"While you may be ready for bed, Capplesauce, I have a need … Nothing here is broken, so I can't fix anything. So I'll just … build something. Don't you worry your pretty head about it."

"Whatever you say, snookums," Steve quipped in reply.

"Shut up."

"Tony."

"Yeah?" He asked, beginning to sort the blocks into piles of red, yellow, and black.

"Never mind."

"Okay."

"'Night."

"No, no, you know what? Not okay," Tony said. He couldn't quite look Steve in the eyes, but continued. "I want to know why you faked it."

"I don't know what you mean," Steve said, suspiciously coy.

"You know what I mean."

"Nope."

"Cap, there are twenty-thousand differences between you and me, the biggest being that with you things are black and white. They're right or they're wrong. You can lift it or you can't."

"So you noticed?"

"I'm a genius, you idiot. Everyone noticed. Either you're worthy or you aren't." Tony began forming the foundation of his project with red blocks.

"I didn't think it was a question you all needed answered." Steve shrugged innocently, his eyes closed, and Tony couldn't help but notice how that was the most peaceful he'd ever seen Cap.

"So you faked it?"

"You make it sound so dishonest, Stark."

"Oh, it's Stark, now, is it?"

"Yes, I can lift the hammer."

"So why'd you lie about it?"

"I didn't lie!" Steve's eyes popped open and Tony made the mistake of looking up from the toys. Steve's eyes were impossibly blue and froze everything. What was the question? His tongue was solid ice on the roof of his mouth and the blood in him went cold. Brain freeze. Heart stop. Fingers still. Eyes open.

Thank God Steve went on.

"You all trust me now. I don't want you to think because I can lift Mjolnir that every decision I make is a good one. I am fallible, but I have good intent. That intent makes me worthy. My intent is to keep my team and the world safe from harm. It's the only thing that matters to me, Tony, and that's why I can lift it."

Tony finally pried his tongue free.

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Tony sighed. He went back to building, and he presumed Steve went to sleep. He hummed "Dirty Deeds" to himself for a bit, then every other 80s tune he could think of until his Lego creation was nearly finished.

"I don't think everything is black-and-white," The voice stunned Tony and he yelped, dropping his project.

"Hmph," He began reattaching a few pieces that had fallen off.

"Maybe I did before I went into the ice. But how can I think that way now? Am I alive? Technically. Did I die? Technically." Cap sighed. "All I know for sure is this team. That's why when you and Banner go behind my back, behind the team, and create something with potential for unprecedented destruction … It's wrong to me."

"I just wanted—"

"I don't give a damn what you wanted, Tony!" Steve said, suddenly irate. "How can you accuse me of narrow-mindedness when you did what you did? You see things as 'safe' and 'unsafe.' You need to make things safer, I accept what is."

"And that's unacceptable to me."

"There you go again!"

"No, this was not what I wanted, Captain," Tony said, suddenly tempted to get to his feet, cross the room and … and … He refused to let that scenario play out in his head because he'd had that vision before and it lead to hate sex. He was internally compelled to keep that version, not what may actually unfold. Cap may very well punch him in the face, so he fiddled with the Lego blocks in his hands until Cap spoke again.

"How can anything be black-and-white when Bucky …"

There it was. "When Bucky …"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Fantastic," Steve laid his head on the pillow again.

"No, wait!"

"What, now, Stark?"

"I think I can lift it."

"What?"

"Mjolnir. I can lift it."

"Sure."

"No, no, hear me out. Thor puts the hammer down in the Quinjet. I'm flying the Quinjet. QED, I can lift it."

"I think the floor of the Quinjet takes the place of Earth. So, you're not lifting it so much as lifting the floor."

"Way to be a crabCapple."

"Now an elevator …" Steve trailed off, teasingly.

"Yes!"

"If the elevator lifts it …"

"The elevator's worthy. What if I built the elevator?"

"You're worthy-ish," Cap conceded.

"I'll take it."

Take it, Tony did. He liked Steve more than he should. Maybe it was the caricature of himself—his prosthesis, more like—he held in his hands, but Cap worked with Iron Man. Steve, on the other hand, didn't really enjoy Tony's company.

"Why don't you like me?" The words weren't meant to come out of his mouth, but they found their way anyhow.

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you like me?" Tony repeated.

"I like you just fine," Steve replied unconvincingly.

"I'm asking a serious question."

"I don't like it when you talk so much and I'm trying to sleep."

"Don't bullshit me, Steve. I know you're not sleeping, not when Ultron's out there threatening innocent lives."

"Tony, I like you fine."

"No, you don't." Tony waited for what seemed like ages before Steve sighed.

"You don't like me. I think you respect me now but you don't like me. It's off-putting. You criticize Fury for using the Tesseract as a nuclear deterrent, while you were creating Ultron for the same purpose."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't. You don't see what you do in any light except the one that makes it most swallowable to you." Tony definitely didn't blush at the word 'swallowable.' "It's a defense mechanism, and I don't care, really, why you have it. All I know is that it's destructive, sometimes to you, and sometimes to others."

"That's my life in a nutshell," Tony quipped. "If I'm not killing myself, I'm destroying someone else."

"That's not what I—"

"You knew my dad, you can imagine."

"I really can't."

"That so? Well, he was cold, calculating, and I was a perpetual disappointment. I remember one time when I was really little we got into an argument. I'd done something. Something exploded, probably, but I was seven or so and he started yelling at me. Didn't hit me that time, but said I was 'unlovable.' I don't know why he said it, but that's what he said and he said it over and over again. That time, and a few times after that, enough for me to start believing it, you know?

"So I did. One of my many therapists suggested it was why I started fucking people when I was fourteen. The imitation of love because it's something I never had. So I drowned myself is sex and liquor because nobody gave a fuck, right? Then Howard died and Jarvis wasn't there anymore, so no one could really keep me in line, I guess. And I tried so hard to get someone to love me. So, so hard. I thought Obi was alright, and he tried to have me killed. And it's just, over and over and I keep getting fucked over."

"Pepper seems to love you," Steve said, more alert then.

"She seems to, doesn't she? But she really just likes me. She likes my snark and is impressed by my ingenuity, and I'm around her all the time and she loves convenience. She tries to love me, I think, but it's just not the kind of thing … I've gotten her into such trouble and she'll forgive me and trust me but I don't think that what she feels is love, really. We work together so we should WORK TOGETHER, right? As a couple.

"Then, of course, there's Rhodey. He's known me forever and has a protective streak a mile long. Kind of loves me in a way … But were it to come down to me or the Constitution, there's no question where his loyalty lies.

"So I'm in my forties and no one's ever been able to love me. I thought maybe if I were to start protecting people, I'd find someone who could? The more people I protect, the more likely I am to find that person. It's just this cycle of me thinking that I'll be able to love myself.

"I'm done with the psychobabble now. Sorry," Tony apologized too quickly.

"That's interesting."

"It really isn't," Tony said, putting the final blocks on his project. He put the Lego version of the Iron Man Mark II mask on the bed in place of the pillows before plopping down on his own next to Steve.

"That's the sort of thing you tell teammates, Tony. It's trust."

"Yeah, I guess."

A short pause.

"I'm sorry Howard wasn't better to you."

"You don't need to talk about him. I don't like talking about him. So if you could just not, now, that'd be fantastic."

"This is the first conversation we've had that wasn't forced. You realize that? Maybe we should sleep together more often."

"I'll call Christine Everhart and let her know Captain America wants to sleep with Iron Man. _Vanity Fair_ will go crazy. We'd probably make the cover."

"Oh, a photoshoot! You know how those thrill me," Steve deadpanned. Tony broke out in hysterical laughter and Steve punched him in the arm.

"Sorry, sorry, Cap. Oh, God. We do fight like an old married couple." Tony laughed louder, Steve laughed a bit, and they rested their heads on the wall for awhile.

"How mad would you be if I started calling you 'Honey' over comms?"

"Perfectly acceptable, SugarCap."

"It's a deal."

"Great, old-timer. So …"

"Doesn't change that I think you're wrong. And that whatever you try to create to protect us from what's out there is only going to cause trouble."

"And I think you're a government lackey willing to accept what is and perpetually be playing defense."

"You wound me, honey."

"Forgive me, Steve?" Tony winked playfully and Steve pointed his chin toward the window. Tony definitely did not scan his jawline.

"The sun's coming up."

And so it did.

There wasn't a horizon, really. It was all trees and a thin yellow band skimming their tops. They sat in silence as the yellow grew and was replaced by orange, as the clouds turned pink. Bands of colour alternating, changing, and shifting until the sun finally peeked overtop the trees, light bouncing off the green yard below.

"They say everyone creates the thing they fear. Maybe that's what I did," Tony admitted. "I created destruction. Steve, you're a god-fearing man." No reply. "If he created it, does God fear the sunrise?"

Steve smiled a bit at that.

"I don't think it's the sunrise God fears. My gram used to say he's afraid we, humans, you know, wouldn't love him." Steve looked at Tony, then. Their noses maybe two inches apart … Normally he'd be repelled because Steve's eyes were so, soul-piercingly blue. Steve's jaw loosened a bit, which Tony definitely didn't notice.

"Yeah, and … ?" He managed to say. Real classy, Tony. Really upped your game on that one. He smiled kindly which Tony definitely—aw, fuck, Tony knew it. Something weird happened to Steve's eyes just then, and he said,

"God is always afraid we won't love him, so every morning he sends us a reminder."

Tony chuckled because the last time he prayed, he was literally in another dimension.

Pain gripped his chest then, and he slammed his head against the wall. A sharp intake of breath that burned his nostrils. His eyes forced themselves shut and tears forced themselves out and his breath came in stutters. His body convulsed and he wound himself into a fetal position, head between his legs.

Tony sensed none of this.

 _His chest was about to cave in._

 _He was falling …_

 _It was dark …_

 _So cold …_

 _Frozen …_

 _Then it was loud._

 _So loud._

 _Tony's eyes opened and there he was._

 _Captain America, hovering over him. The lines of concern etched across his cowl-less features._

 _Memory Lane was rarely that kind. Panic attacks didn't include waking up to Cap's face._

 _There was no sound. The streets of New York City were lifeless, but Tony was not._

 _He laughed._

 _Shawarma?_

The sounds of farm life were loud. So loud.

Tony's eyes opened and there he was. Steve Rogers, hovering over him, the lines of concerned etched across his features. Life was rarely that kind. Panic attacks didn't include waking up to Steve's face. There was no sound. The mini-Barton's room was lifeless, but Tony was not. He laughed.

 _You are my reminder._

He'd never say it out loud, of course. Tony laid his head back and smiled to himself, knowing Steve would always be there to wake him up.


	4. Take My Hand

"The city is flying," Cap heard Hawkeye sigh over comms. It was a battle, and Captain America was prepared. He fit seamlessly into the team, calling orders when needed, but everyone seemed to coordinate subconsciously. That's how they did things: together.

Cap set himself the task of guarding the eastern perimeter, city shadows cloaking the area as the sun set. The lone strip of remaining light shone on a bridge about to collapse. Cap ran toward a woman's sudden cries of,

"HELP! HELP!" She shouted from the front seat of a convertible, teetering on the edge. Cap managed to get hold of the car's chassis, but the woman screamed again as the car fell forward, the back bumper coming off in Cap's hands. He breathed heavily, momentarily stunned as the vehicle plummeted toward the ground at least a mile below.

There was a feeling then, a dark storm cloud peeking out from the recesses of his psyche.

Thor swooped up from beneath the city, Mjolnir whirred through the air and Steve physically shook the thought from his mind as another scream pierced the air. The red convertible continued its dive and Cap heard something creak behind him.

Familiarity. Superhero work.

He spun, rear bumper in hand, and drilled it through the center of the Ultrobot. He threw it to the side a good twenty feet away and glanced again over the bridge's edge to see Thor waiting for him. Standing shotgun, Thor gripped the forearm of the driver and looked to Cap who nodded. A glance back at the lady, Thor nodded and tossed her upward, godly strength propelled her against gravity, but Cap realized it wouldn't be enough.

He hopped off the edge and hung onto some of the broken pavement poking out of the city's side, catching the woman's hand just in time.

"I've got you!" He said.

But then, it wasn't what he said. Instead,

"Take my hand!" It was cold—chillier than it had been the moment before. Snow fell, but it was summer. Cap wasn't holding onto jutted-out pavement, but Steve Rogers hung onto the door of a train.

 **.oOo.**

In their early days at Avengers Tower, trust had to be earned. Banner shared with Steve a poem, and its poignancy was not lost.

 _This being human is a guest house._ _  
_ _Every morning a new arrival._

 _A joy, a depression, a meanness,_  
some momentary awareness comes  
as an unexpected visitor.

 _Welcome and entertain them all!_  
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,  
who violently sweep your house  
empty of its furniture,  
still, treat each guest honorably.  
He may be clearing you out  
for some new delight.

 _The dark thought, the shame, the malice._ _  
_ _meet them at the door laughing and invite them in._

 _Be grateful for whatever comes._  
because each has been sent  
as a guide from beyond.

 **.oOo.**

Were mindset a guest house, this moment came like a flash flood. Without warning, it filled Steve with a numbing cold. Slowly, it rose from his toes to throat where it suffocated him until he was completely engulfed by the watery crash of memory.

He could see Bucky, then. Steve could feel the distinctly metallic chill of the metal door against his cheek as he stretched his arm out again for Bucky to grab hold. Bucky tried but couldn't manage to get his hand more than three inches from the door handle he clung to.

The handle began to wobble, just the slightest bit, and Steve felt he had one more shot. But he knew he didn't. It was in vain. Bucky almost reached him that last time. That last swing from handlebar to hand was so close Steve felt the pads of Bucky's fingers skim off his glove before his best friend shrank into the distance of the mountains below.

Steve clung to the train's door, moving at too many miles per hour to keep his eyes on Bucky's supposedly final resting place.

It was confusing as he rested his forehead on the metal door, because the pine trees below, covered in snow, looked exactly like Christmas. Instead of unwrapping presents and Bucky warming his hands by the fire, he was wrapped in the wintery folds of death.

If Steve was a guest house, he had several visitors in those moments. A joy at the hope he could save Bucky this time. A meanness toward Red Skull, Hydra, and every Nazi bastard who'd put him in that position. But he saw the depression, the defeat in Bucky's eyes—his last expression, and it'd be permanently etched on his features for seventy years.

The crowd of sorrows poured in, then. The dark thought. _I didn't think I'd be there to see the end of the line._ He could end his life and end his misery. Killing everything in sight may have done just as well. The shame at being able to save everyone _but_ Bucky, the one person he cared about more than anything. More than the war, more than good intentions. God, the malice he felt burning hot in his veins instead of blood. He didn't just want to kill, he needed to kill and his muscles tightened at the thought.

But as quickly as the flash storm came, it was gone, and he was alone, hanging onto his purpose more than he clung to the train door.

Tremors of sadness swam beneath his skin and Steve allowed himself a second of misery. Just a second.

 **.oOo.**

"Just a second," Cap told the woman, clinging to him for dear life. He pulled her up and she climbed—actually climbed him—up and onto the city's edge before running as quickly as she could toward solid (if levitating) ground.

Steve pulled himself up and over before collapsing on the ground. While the memory flood was gone, its effects lingered. The dam he'd crafted to block out thoughts of Bucky and his first war during battle was decimated. Once again, he held someone's life in his hand as they trusted him to pull them to safety. It felt good to be successful this time, so Steve allowed himself a second of contentment.

Just one second.

Captain America knew better. Captain America knew there were no spare seconds in battle. There are no moments allowed for weakness or for clarity or for any intention other than **to win**. Steve Rogers, though, he didn't quite know that. Captain America was a symbol, but Steve Rogers was a guest house. While he was saying goodbye to his visitors, Ultron's minions advanced.

Captain America lay there, sprawled on the edge of a floating city, surrounded by a semicircle of Ultrobots. On his other side? Nothing. The edge. Steve supposed there was a metaphor in there, but he couldn't be bothered to find it.

Before he could think another thought, the familiar clink of metal on pavement lit him up like a Christmas tree. _A guide from beyond_. Iron Man stood behind him and Cap could feel the sass about to pour from his lips. The contentment didn't leave Steve at all. He couldn't see the face behind the mask, but he knew the telltale smirk would be there as Tony said,

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

Then it was momentary awareness flooding his psyche, but Steve forced it out.

"I understood that reference," Cap said as he rolled onto his knees, and offered his shield in their customary ass-kicking maneuver. Iron Man shot of a repulsor blast that decimated each bot as it sliced through their hardware. Iron Man offered his hand and lifted the face plate.

"Together?" He asked. Cap nodded and grabbed Tony's proffered hand to lift himself up.

"Together."


End file.
